Day 4

Today was uneventful. The rain started this morning not six minutes after saddling up. It was just a light rain but it lasted most of the day. Late afternoon it got sunny again but that didn’t help Gunther’s mood.

Hobgoblins are still the big talk. I started thinking out loud as we rode: “How are we going to talk to these things anyway?”

Gunther looked over his shoulder at me. He looked hungover. “What?”

“These hobgoblins. What language do they speak? Common?”

“Fuckmouth.” It was Tallow.

“What?”

“They speak Fuckmouth.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking. He seemed pretty serious.

“What does that mean?”

“It means they don’t speak anything. They just make noises like an old man humping on a goat. It means they’re beast men.”

Fuckmouth. Great. This is the company I have. After a minute I tried to move the conversation along. “Some of the goblins I fought spoke Common. Not all, but a few of them.”

Gunther said something from up ahead. I didn’t hear him so I asked him to repeat it.

“Hobgoblins ain’t goblins!” he yelled.

“Yeah, they smell worse and they have bigger weapons,” said Tallow.

“Have you ever seen a hobgoblin?” I asked.

“O, I’ve seen everything, Master Darkesworde. Or should I call you Captain, Captain?”

I never made captain and he knows it. But I try not to talk to him when we acts smart. “Whatever they speak, I bet the wizard can understand it.” We've taken to calling Grens "the wizard" because, well, what else could he be? I looked over at him, bringing up the rear, but he didn’t seem to catch on that we were talking about him.

Tallow made him notice: “Hey Grens, can you speak Fuckmouth?”

Grens shook his head no.

“Doesn’t matter,” yelled Gunther.

I was skeptical. “Yeah, why not?”

No answer. I looked at Tallow, who was smiling.

“I know why it doesn’t matter,” he said.

I went for the bait. “Great, so tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter because there are no hobgoblins. And if there are any, they’ll attack us when we saunter up to talk to ‘em. And if we hold ‘em down and make ‘em listen, they won’t give a dancing fart what we have to say anyway.” He beamed at me and then called up to Gunther: “That about right, Gunth?”

“Something like that.”

Things seemed a lot easier back on the farm.